


Where Do We Go From Here?

by NikkiRynne



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Female pronouns, POV Second Person, Possible eventual smut???, Pregnancy, Reader-Insert, Romance, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, all i wanna write is tf2 and yall cant stop me, because i love writing angst lmao, hi also im back from the dead, i'll add more tags as it progresses lol, tf2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 13:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20658131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiRynne/pseuds/NikkiRynne
Summary: In the aftermath of a procedure that was once kept secret, now finally confessed to your lover, you can't help but wonder where you go from here. A careless moment followed by a valid decision. A secret you're desperately trying to keep forever, versus a nosy teammate and a washed-up doctor. Your business is your business, and there's only room on the battlefield for so many people.





	Where Do We Go From Here?

Throughout your many experienced years of being a decently-functioning human being, you’ve heard many mantras, morals, and ideas; and as you sat in the passenger seat of your lover’s old, rickety van, making a conscious effort to concentrate more on the sensations of leaving tracks on uneven terrain as you rode towards your destination in the middle of the night, rather than actually conversing with your partner and remedying the current situation, you remembered a certain euphemism that was overwhelmingly appropriate for the awkward air between you and the driver: silence is violent.

You didn’t know how hard your companion was pressing on the gas pedal, but to be fairly honest, you didn’t think it was nearly hard enough.

You slumped in your seat, a loose seat belt hung carelessly against your torso and lap- a safety hazard that definitely wouldn’t have passed basic transportation regulations in this day in age, and something that easily reminded you just how ancient this van truly was. Ignoring the fact, you rested your elbow on the edge of the passenger side window, shifting the weight of your head against an unintentionally white-knuckled fist. Taking in the barely-lit desert landscape and devoting yourself to focus your gaze solely on the numerous sand dunes and the few well-adapted structures of greenery that you sped past, the tires flicking sand upon their branches and showering them in grainy crystals, was notably uncharacteristic of you for usually jovial road trips. Eyes like stone and focused on the small terrain actually lit by pathetic headlights, your lover shared the sentiment. The ritual of a regularly chatty adventure between two lovebirds seemed so foreign and dead that rigor mortis could’ve settled in by now. The warm haze of the van’s interior harbored on a daily basis was eclipsed by a navy hue that currently flooded the volume and could only be described as a wave of total dejection. Even if you forced yourself to asses and analyze the current features of your companion, you knew you wouldn’t be able to develop a sudden ESP for mind-reading and possess the words and logic needed to fix whatever was happening between the two of you. Instead of going against your will and attempting to look at your love, you solidified your stare at the waning gibbous above the seemingly endless landscape, shutting out the sliver of subconscious that suggested you move at all. You should, but you won’t.

Inversely, the man in the driver’s seat forced his neck to stay concrete, attempting to silence his desperate need to turn and take you in.

Radio static had long been shut off, and the only sound accompanying the road trips besides the ringing in your ears and your anxious nagging conscience was the unsteady hum of the engine, faltering occasionally as you passed over particularly large bumps or rocks.

You sighed as inconspicuously as possible to avoid attention, caught up in a hallucinated voice inside your head screaming at you to ‘fucking say something.’ Over the past two and a half hours of utter maladroitness and nonexistent dialogue, your concern shifted from ‘how am I going to survive this?’ to ‘how does he feel about this?’ For a ruthless assassin and employed mercenary, you sure did have a lot of feelings. God damn your empathy.

You wished so desperately to let yourself be selfish, just this one time, to stay upset and let yourself hurt until he came forward first, but you realized that just wasn’t realistic as your heart stopped momentarily at the small gruff coming from Mundy as he tried to silence a throat-clearing. Then, more exaggerated silence.

Forcing yourself to break out of the tactless rambling that is your inner monologue, cursing the nerves hexed upon you, you broke off the invisible neck brace that has stiffened and choked you for the majority of the car ride and uneasily turned your gaze ahead. Not to him, just ahead.

Unbeknownst to you, your body language was not gone unnoticed by the driver, which severely caused him more anxiety and a harder held breath than when you avoided even twitching in his direction entirely.

For a moment, you were silent, unable to motivate your synapses to fire and make your brain open you mouth. You tried separating your lips, only to find out they had been so dryly pursed together for so long that they were practically stuck. You pulled them in, ran your tongue over them, and pried them open whether they wanted to part or not. There’s no way in hell you’re letting him go to bed mad tonight.

You waited one more moment, paranoid that he might start speaking when you try to. When you caught on the he was potentially hanging on just as much as you were, you gave yourself the last push to ‘fucking say something.’

“Are you mad at me?” You muttered, unsure if he could even decipher the surely inhuman words you let out, or if he could even hear you. Either way, you felt a twinge of pride for not stuttering no matter how confident you were that stuttering would be a problem.

The air was stale. No comment. Good god, you felt like throwing up your empty stomach.

“I couldn’t be.” An inconclusive reply. A beat passed as you anticipated him to continue, but being as well-versed in Mundy’s nature as you were, you quickly calculated your response.

“Do you want to be?” You mustered out. Why did you even bother asking questions that could potentially slaughter you from the inside-out? Does he want to be mad? Does he want to hate you? Is he compelled to allow you to become part of the wilderness only visible in his foggy rear-view mirror and never have his heart broken again? You knew so much better than to give yourself a pass to over-calculate, but this wasn’t the battlefield. This was different. You recalled another saying preached aloud multiple times throughout your childhood: curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Yeah, fucking right.

“Of course not,” Mundy replied shakily, evidence of an overwhelming emotion clear, however which emotion it was, was totally unclear.

You didn’t realize how much this tense silence hurt until he started talking to you again. You also didn’t realize that the breath you were desperately holding onto was also being held by him.

“I would be,” you countered, disappointed in yourself for the factors of the situation.

A pause.

“I-” he started. You shifted your eyes sneakily to your left, trying to study him and where this conversation could possibly be haphazardly tumbling to. He unsuccessfully swallowed a lump in his throat. “I don’t understand where your logic is coming from.” You furrowed your brows, confused. Noticing this out of his sharp peripheral, he quickly scrambled to elaborate. “Do you really know so little about me that you would assume that I’m angry at you for this?”

You panicked. Goodbye, calculation.  
“God, of course not- I just-” Your panic rose in tsunami levels of disaster as your brain buffered for an appropriate, elegant, and genuine response, “I just feel so guilty and gross and shitty about this, and I know that this sucks- this really sucks- and I fucking hate myself for keeping this bottled up and stowed away during all of this, but I was so scared that whether or not this turned out well, I was going to hurt you somehow- and I’m still scared. I just don’t want you to be hurt because I know I would be if I were you.”

Elegant. As. Fuck. Good job, brain. Way to word-vomit your way out of this one.

“I understand,” he grumbled. “I’m not mad, love.”

A brief hesitation. “...Are you serious?”

He hummed lowly in response.

“You’re not just saying that so I’ll stop freaking out?”

“I mean it,” he reassured, a corner of his mouth twitching threateningly to show his relief.

You nodded and allowed your feature to soften, simultaneously letting your guard fall again. Another brief pause.

“You tired, love?”

You smirked at the change of his tone, endeared by the familiarity and the sentiment as well as his eagerness to return to the demeanor prior to this confrontation, but continually anxious about what still needs to be said. Perhaps this is all you can get out of him tonight. You know him. Maybe some sleep will make this conversation easier. After all, you did tell yourself you wouldn’t let him go to bed upset, and there’s still a haunting possibility that this conversation could escalate and turn sour.

“Fucking exhausted, to be honest,” you let out with a light nervous chuckle.

You felt the van begin to slow down, and for the first time in hours, you turned to look at your lover completely, albeit quizzically.

“Go ahead and go to the camper. You need to rest,” he ordered warmly, answering the puzzled look on your face.

“You don’t need to st-”

“Darling. You’re tired. We’ve still got another hour to go. Please go get some rest. I’ll be up when we make it back. You don’t gotta wait for me.”

You smiled shyly at his consideration as the van came to a resting stop.

“Thank you,” you half-whispered. Mundy smiled back at you with that trademark love-struck grin of his that you’ve come to memorize so meticulously over the past two years. His eyes made direct contact with yours, something you came to miss even though it’s only been a couple hours of silent treatment. Your eyes shifted quickly to his lips and then back up to his eyes. Figuring you should stamp the “we’re okay” seal on the night after what happened, you fixed your posture and connected your loud, fiery mouth with his reserved, controlled one. Giving him a quick peck goodnight, you moved back to your original spot and looked at him once more. How he could still look at you after all this time, with those eyes that remind you that you’re the only one allowed in, especially after this, you will never know.

You shrugged off the poor excuse of a seat belt and pushed yourself out the passenger door. You gently shut it behind you, partly so as not to convey a false sense of anger by slamming it, and partly as to not abuse the fragility of the almost-run-down poor excuse of a vehicle and break it, and headed to the back of the camper can, feeling the familiar sinking of your boots in the sand. The moon lit your passing, and you briefly tilted your chin to glance at the sparkling constellations only visible in the special parts of the world that don’t suffocate from light pollution. No matter how terrible your suffering could possibly be, it comforted you knowing that the moon and stars are one of the few constants in your life. You ignored the cheesiness of the sentiment and sighed, trying to let all the remaining uneasiness exit while you were still stationary.

It’s over for now. It’s done.

You turned the thick, rusted handle on the camper’s entrance and swung it open, pushing yourself off the ground a significant distance for your much shorter legs in comparison to your lover’s. Hoisting yourself into the camper, you flicked on the dim artificial lighting installed poorly around the interior. After shutting and securing the door, making sure not to deadbolt Mundy out, you walked across the floor to the side of the camper that sits parallel to the back of the van, a short distance, and pounded your fist twice against the wall to signal Mundy that it was safe to continue driving. You steadied yourself with little effort as the floor began to rumble nearly viciously beneath you, as you’ve become so accustomed to the sensation.

You followed your usual routine, thankful that this part of the night hadn’t changed, just like the constellations. You unlaced and slid off your boots, packing them into a small plastic contained strategically stored underneath a fraction of the little amount of counter space that lined the camper. You pants, socks, jacket, shirt, and bra soon followed suit, and you lightly pushed the container back into place. Next to the counter, you rummaged around Mundy’s small wardrobe, carefully pushing aside the trousers, button-ups, vests, and jackets he so famously sported and finding one of the few clean t-shirts he kept neatly folded and nearly untouched at the bottom of his wardrobe. You slipped on a plain white cotton shirt and closed the door. You pulled out your spare toothbrush from a cabinet and freshened up, repeatedly thanking the heavens that it was time for sleep. After rinsing your mouth of the minty goop, you double-checked to make sure all of your belongings were stored and no mess was left. Mundy can keep his van as cluttered as he wants, but you’ll be damned if you forget to put your shit away and contribute to the mess. Traveling back to the entrance, you switched off the lights and made your way back to the short ladder that led to the small, lofted bed above the actual van. Pulling back the pile of blankets haphazardly thrown on top of the unmade bed, you eased yourself onto the mattress and settled in as best as you could without Mundy by your side.

You tugged the blankets close to your chin and flipped onto your side, desperate to get comfortable enough to slip out of consciousness in a timely manner. The brief conversation looped endlessly in your mind, making you even more desperate to sleep. As your body relaxed, your head danced. Where do you go from here? You didn’t understand how Mundy could still stand you. Did he still trust you after keeping something this life-changing from him? Well, you guess it couldn’t be so life-changing, seeing as how no change really happened. You repetitively told yourself that Mundy is an honest man, something you’ve known and believed since the day you met him. He doesn’t bullshit, especially not with you. His bluntness has gotten him in trouble before, but he still refuses to sugarcoat or lie about anything. Your nerves gently began to settle, and the roars in your head turned to whispers. The hum of the engine acted as white noise as you focused on your deep breathing, soon coaxing you into a much-needed rest.

\--

After an extra hour of driving, Mundy pulled up to the solemn security gates of the RED base. He mindlessly went through his routine of returning to the only stationary place he could hesitantly call home, more focused on how much he was looking forward to park his camper in his usual inconspicuous spot and return to you. He turned a few corners and through a few more gates. Once he found himself in a familiar hidden yet homely spot, he parked and turned off the rattling engine, letting out a hot breath of relief. He untangled himself from his seat belt and lazily jumped out of his seat, carelessly slamming the van door and locking it. He shuffled to the back of the camper, turning the handle to his organized mess of a habitat, and effortlessly lifted himself in, making sure he locked the door as securely as possible.

Keeping the lights off in consideration of your slumber, Mundy grabbed his toothbrush and loaded it with the shared toothpaste, working halfheartedly at his routine of freshening up and stripping down to the bare minimum. He slowly slipped off his gear and left it all on the floor, careless to the mess he would have to deal with in the morning. He rinsed his mouth and put his toothbrush back right where he found it- half-hanging off of the edge of the sink without a care.

Pulling himself on the metal ladder to reach the lofted bed, he peered over the side as best he could to make sure he wasn’t disturbing you. He eagerly joined you in the messy bed and pulled back the blankets so he could settle in. His stable mind started to rev up again, for in the little moonlight that shown through the cracks of the curtained window, he caught a glimpse at your bare abdomen facing him, and felt a sharp squeeze in his heart and stomach. His brows furrowed with great concern as he replayed your confession and apology. He never realized the extent of commitment and dedication he harbored towards you until tonight. He could only imagine your stress. Your worry. Your pain. Your heartbreak. No matter how convinced you were, this isn’t about him. He hesitated laying down and covering up your exposed abdomen, but he found the strength to, once another wave of dizzying fatigue washed over him. He was so used to laying on his back, but tonight, he couldn’t turn away from you. He rested on his side and studied the barely-visible features on your serene face. He didn’t need moonlight to know how calm you looked when you slept. Your stillness is such a huge contrast to your active, conscious personality, and Mundy fell in love with both versions of you. Knowing you were recharging, relief calmed his remaining nerves and he closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back from the dead, I guess!
> 
> I've been reading your messages about 'Yes, Doctor', and while I've decided to stop the story for an indefinite amount of time bc jesus christ that writing was shitty, I do feel guilty about leaving so many of you hanging! Hopefully I can make it up to y'all by creating some newer, BETTER content. This story may be triggering to some readers because it touches on the subject of pregnancy and the termination of it under specific circumstances, but regardless of your stance on the matter, I hope you enjoy this piece of angst that I shat out like two years ago and never posted or added to lol. Hopefully I'll find the time and energy to keep this story going, and I'd love to hear your feedback on it so far! This was loosely-based on the song Killers by Casiotone for the Painfully Alone. Also I'm pretty sure there's already a TF2 fic with this title, so I'll probably change it if need be lol
> 
> BUT ANYWAY THANKS FOR THE SUPPORT EVEN AFTER I GHOSTED YALL FOR YEARS LOL I LOVE YOU ALL SO DEARLY PLS ENJOY


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